The Plague of Eve
by Agricorim
Summary: Voldemort is defeated at the end of the Second Wizarding War, but not before he manages to set off a plague of epic proportions. Its original purpose was to get rid off all "unpure" wizards/witches, but Voldemort doesn't channel enough energy, and, as a result, the disease cuts down any female it hits, pure or unpure. What will the Ministry do? *Co-Written with TheFlameRose* EWE.
1. For The Greater Good

-:Chapter One:-

Beta-ed and Co-Written by: TheFlameRose

Grimmauld Place: Morning

Hermione pushed her food about on her plate, the desire to finish her breakfast having passed fifteen minutes ago. Eventually, she sighed and pushed her plate away, her mind wandering for the umpteenth time that morning. Harry pulled up a seat beside her, his plate filled with fresh pancakes and a few scraps of bacon on the side. He smiled sideways at her in greeting and dug into the syrupy mess. Hermoine sighed, crossing her arms and resting her head on the table. Harry glanced her way as he swallowed another bite, his fork pausing mid-air as he took in her lack of appetite.

"Hermione, are you alright?" His brows furrowed as he set his fork on his plate, turning to face her. Hermione sat up immediately, letting out a big yawn as she rubbed her eyes.

"Yeah, just tired. I've been reading too late at nights," she said, resting her hands in her lap. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, really? What have you been reading?"

"Oh, just a few novels here and there-"

"I'll bet," he cut in, shaking his head at the lie.

Hermione bowed her head, wringing her hands together and avoiding eye contact. Harry's leaned over and lowered his voice, his eyes searching her own.

"It's about the plague, isn't it?"

The room fell silent, and Hermione's lack of acknowledgement was all Harry needed. He opened his mouth, presumably to ease her anxiety with words of comfort, but shut it just as quickly when Ron came bustling into the room. He had the Daily Prophet under his arm and some sort of pastry held in the other. He scarfed down a few bites as he came up behind them, nodding his head as he forced himself to swallow. Hermione's nose crinkled at the smell of body odour wafting heavily from his body. Had he even taken a shower that morning?

"'Mione! Harry!" He paused, swallowing another chunk of his breakfast. "You aren't gonna believe this!"

Harry and Hermione shared a look.

Ron tossed the paper onto the table, a smug smirk tugging at his thin lips. Hermione rolled her eyes. He still was as full of himself as he ever was. Despite his lack of personal hygiene and arrogant ways, she couldn't help but remember a time where she actually was quite fond of him. For years, even. But then she caught him full on snogging in the broom closet with Lavender Brown last year. Her heart felt like it had shattered, and she remembered crying herself to sleep that night.

"What is it, Ronald?" She asked, wondering if he would notice her irritation. As usual, he didn't.

"Just read it and find out," he snorted, walking around to the other side of the table and plopping down in a chair. She sighed, pulling the paper a little closer to get a good look at it.

 ** _MARRIAGE LAW PASSED AT MINISTRY!_**

"W-What?!" She stuttered, looking to Harry for guidance.

"Just keep reading!" Ron shouted, his voice echoing around the room. Hermione grumbled a few choice words to herself before looking at the paper again.

 _After months of council meetings and multiple votings, the Ministry of Magic announced today that, in order to preserve the Wizarding World, a new law will be going into effect immediately!_

 _The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stated, "Some people may think that this law is amoral, medieval, or even barbaric. Perhaps they are right. However, this law has not been enacted to devolve us into our ancestors of centuries past. It is to save our female populous from becoming extinct. The 'Plague of Eve,' as many have referred to it as, has diminished nearly two-thirds of the female wizarding population. In order to save those that are left, drastic measures must be taken."_

 _What "drastic measures" you may be asking?_

 _Why, the law the Ministry has just put into place in it's most basic form – a marriage law._

 _All eligible witches and wizards ages fourteen to sixty, despite whether or not these individuals are in current relationships, will be given a match that will be decided by the Ministry based upon the outlook for the off-spring. It is irrelevant how much of an age difference there will be between two possible matches, or even the gender of both matches. All eligible wizarding folk will be sent a letter informing them of their future spouse, or, perhaps, their spouses, if it is determined that there will be more than one ideal match, sources have said._

 _As previously stated above, the Ministry has deduced a way to determine someone's "ideal match," or, if you would prefer, soulmate._

 _How the Ministry does this specifically is unknown to us, as it is done by Unspeakables._

 _The Ministry has decreed that in order to save the Wizarding population and and rebuild it into what it once was, each matched and subsequently married pair must have at least three children._

 _Children from previous relationships are irrelevant to this rule. If an individual is matched with more than one other witch or wizard, the children required will be double._

 _In the case of having more than a single match, the oldest member of the coupling shall take the role as "Head of House."_

 _Of course, this does work both ways. One wizard or witch can have two matches, but two wizards or witches can also share one match._

 _All we can do now is sit back and wait to find out who our determined match, or matches, are!_

Hermione stared at the newspaper in shock and horror, her hand rising up to cover her mouth. She looked up at Harry, her mouth dry. He looked back at her helplessly, which did nothing but worry her more. Ron sat back in his chair with a loud burp, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Doesn't it sound great? I could have TWO wives!" Ron laughed, glancing between his two friends when their expressions didn't change.

"Fine, I guess I'll go celebrate elsewhere, then," he huffed, shoving back his seat and stomping out of the room. Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly.

"Harry, when do you think we'll get our letters?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he sighed, patting her back reassuringly. "I don't know."

-(0o0)-

Malfoy Manor: Early Afternoon

Draco paced back and forth across his room, his famous scowl marring his features. He was growing more and more frustrated with every step he made. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and summoned one of his family's house elves.

"Where is Father?" Draco demanded. The house elf blinked its large eyes at him, taking a moment to process his sudden anger.

"Blinkie knows where Master is," the house elf suddenly exclaimed, brightening considerably. "Blinkie is happy to serve!"

"Blinkie, please just take me to him. There is something of great importance I must speak with him about," Draco sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Yes, Young Master. Of course, Young Master! Follow Blinkie, please."

Draco trailed after the little elf, his scowl letting up the smallest bit. At least they knew how to do their job. Blinkie led him through room after room, through opulent corridors and intricate halls, eventually coming to a stop in front of Lucius' study. Draco knocked, waiting a few moments for his father to call him in.

"Enter," Lucius called dully through the door. Draco motioned Blinkie to go away and opened the door, seating himself in one of the two lounge chairs that were situated in front of Lucius' rather large oak desk.

"Ahh, Draco. I was just about to call for you," Lucius started, setting his current book down. "I assume you are here to discuss this new 'Marriage Law' the Ministry has decided to impose upon us?"

"What else?" Draco said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Indeed, Draco. What else?" Lucius mused, a seriousness to his words that was dismantled by the bemused expression in his eyes. "What has you so wound up?"

Draco look down at himself, noticing how rigid his own posture was and how tightly his hands were clasped together. Strange how one's body gives away their thoughts.

"Father, it is arranged marriage, done by the Ministry no less! What if my 'perfect match' is someone horrendous? What if I hate her? What if she hates me?" He ranted, freezing as a new thought occurred to him.

"Merlin's left nut! What if it's Pansy?!"

Lucius stood from his chair and walked around his desk, sitting back down again in the seat beside the angry blonde. He sat there patiently, waiting for his son to calm before speaking again.

"Draco, you may or you may not be cursed with a marriage that is doomed to fail before it has even begun. But, it will be your duty to endure whoever your wife-to-be is, even if you don't hold any fondness for her whatsoever." Draco opened his mouth to rebuttal his claim, but Lucius stopped him with a hand. "Do not tell me it is impossible. I have been doing it for twenty years."

"And here I thought you had festered a sort of love for Mother, over the years," Draco scoffed. Despite his sarcastic response, he was genuinely curious about it. After all, if he was going to spend the rest of his days in a loveless marriage, he might as well learn from a master.

"Yes, Draco. Tolerance is essential in dealing with anything unpleasant. That, and avoidance," Lucius said solemnly.

Both Malfoy men fell silent, each thinking of the possibilities.

"I suppose, in a way, this could be good for you?" Draco piped up, meeting his old man's gaze.

"Why, Draco, what ever do you mean?" Lucius replied, pretending to be ignorant.

"Father, you know perfectly well what I mean."

"Oh, do I?" Lucius said, raising a single eyebrow. Draco sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well, it's quite obvious that you're going to squeeze it out of me anyhow," he huffed. "You have never been happy in your marriage to Mother because she's awful!"

"Draco, you shouldn't speak of your mother that way. It is disrespectful," Lucius reprimanded him, but something about the way he said it led Draco to believe that he wasn't that upset in the least. He was merely going through the motions.

"But, if I were to tell you that I was happy, or even content, with my marriage, that would be a falsehood."

There was a soft knock on the study door, prompting Lucius to bid whoever it was to enter.

"Master! Mistress would like to speak with Master in the formal dining hall," Vivney squeaked, her hands curled towards her small chest.

Vivney had taken care of Lucius as a child, and when he grew up and had Draco, she took care of him, too, in place of a nanny or a nurse. The two men had also grown to care for her a great deal as she had practically raised the both of them. When Lucius was a child, Abraxas ignored him unless he was in a particularly bad mood and chose to take his anger out on him. Narcissa always discouraged any show of affection between father and son, for reasons she was never privy to give. In those days, Lucius was far more flexible to his wife's iron will, so the two rarely spent any time together.

Lucius inwardly cringed. His wife, for some reason unbeknownst to him, had always chosen perhaps the most public place in the Manor to hold these kinds of conversations. Sighing, he rose and excused himself, following Vivney towards the dining hall. _He couldn't wait to be rid of her._


	2. Suitors

**-:Chapter Two:-**

 **Disclaimer** : All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters (OCs) and the plot(s)/sub-plot(s) are the sole property of the author (yours truly). The author is in no way nor does she claim to be associated with the owner(s), creator(s) or producer(s) of any media franchise.  
No copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Note** : The disclaimer (above) is valid and applies to the entirety of this work of FanFiction.

 **AN** : This chapter has been deleted and reposted as the previous version of this chapter had some formatting issues.

To anyone who reviewed the last chapter: you will get a shout-out in the next chapter (in this and any of my - hopefully - future stories) will be for those who reviewed the last chapter.

The following are shout-outs to my very first reveiwers:

 **and adavi821** : thanks! The formatting issue has been resolved!

 **sweet-tang-honney** : love your name! And Tadaa!

 **'Meee** ': your wish is my command!

 **Andyan** : Here you go, as promised - earlier!

* * *

 _Co-Written and Beta-ed by: TheFlameRose_

 _Grimmauld Place: Late Afternoon_

It was late afternoon by the time the dreaded letters from the ministry started arriving. These letters would be what determined the fates of wizards and witches alike. They would decide who would be forced to wed who, and just how many they were to be bound to.

Hermoine sat at the table, her own letter resting on the place in front of her. Her name had been written with a flourish on the creamy envelope, the black ink unsettling her stomach.

Harry sat opposite of her, his green eyes watching her in concern. His letter had yet to arrive, giving Hermoine little comfort. Ron had left a few hours before the blasted thing had come, claiming that he was off to "celebrate."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Hermoine picked up the letter and turned it around, breaking the seal left on the back. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed open the envelope, her nerves getting to her. She pulled out the pale parchment slowly, closing her eyes once before beginning to read.

 _To whom this may concern,_

 _As you are (probably) aware, we - the Ministry of Magic - have enacted a new "marriage" law. This law will require you to marry and procreate with the following individual(s)._

 **Mr. Lucius Malfoy**

 **Mr. Draco Malfoy**

 _If you have indeed not read the article (in the Daily Prophet) on this particular subject, we would strongly advise you to do so, as it will inform you of the expectations of each couple/triad by the ministry._

 _Your future husbands and yourself will have a weeklong "courting" period, to try to build the asks for a loving relationship._

 _We wish you all the best,_

 _Glenetch Gumfrizzel._

Hermione's mouth dropped open, her hand coming up to cover it as her eyes bulged. She couldn't believe it. Her mind refused to process it. She was going to have to get married to Malfoy. _Both_ Malfoys. She was going to have to share a bed with them, to _pleasure_ them...She cringed at the very thought.

"Hermione, what is it?" Harry asked, scanning her face and her reaction.

Hermione didn't answer him, she simply slid the letter across the table and hugged her knees to her chest. He took a second to read the contents, stopped, sat bolt upright, stared her right in the eye, and finally said, "Ohh." That was all he said. However, Hermoine couldn't help but hear the slight amusement in his tone of voice.

 _He thinks this is funny!_ Hermione thought indignantly to herself.

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth opened to retort, but before she had the pleasure the door burst open. An obviously _very_ intoxicated Ron staggered into the room, his face red and his eyes glazed. He stumbled over to his usual place at the table, a belch escaping his lips along with humorless laughter. Hermoine's nose crinkled as she waved away the stench.

"So! I see ya got're letter," he said, eyes trying to focus on the opened scrap of paper.

"Who's yer lucky mate?"

"None of your business," Hermoine sniffed, turning away from him. He just laughed again, his breath smelling of firewhiskey.

The flapping of wings and a faint _whoo_ was all the notice they received before one of the Ministry's owls flew in, two bundles held tightly in its claws. It swooped over the table, dropping the bundles before whipping around and flying out again. Harry reached out and unwrapped them, producing two letters of the same variety that Hermoine's had been. He tossed one over to Ron, not even flinching when Ron took a moment to register what was happening before the paper hit him in the face. Hermoine had to stifle a chuckle at his bewildered expression.

Fumbling with the sealed envelope, Ron eventually just ripped the paper in frustration, thankfully leaving the letter within unharmed. His eyes blurred in and out of focus as he struggled to comprehend the scripted words on the page. A choked gasp caught in his throat as his eyes widened in horror, his hands shaking.

"Bloody 'ell," he slurred before abruptly standing up, nearly falling to the floor with his wonky balance.

Ron clumsily tossed the sticky letter towards Harry, inadvertently splaying it out on the table for all to see. The letter's style was almost identical to Hermoine's, but she had suspected as much. Her keen eyes zeroed in on the name of Ron's future wife, her eyebrows flying up in surprise. A dark chuckle popped out of her mouth before she could stop it, her hand covering it before more could escape. She would never admit it, but somehow it was satisfying to see Ron getting back what he deserved with his new mate.

The beautifully written name towards the bottom of the paper was none other than Dolores Jane Umbridge, the brief Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 _How fitting_ , she thought.

Harry shook his head, laughing lightly under his breath at Ron's misfortune. "I suppose it serves him right. Maybe she'll teach him a thing or two about manners?"

His green gaze slid over to his own letter. For the first time Hermoine saw the worry wrinkling his brow. She hoped that at least one of them would get someone they could, well, tolerate.

Rolling his shoulders, Harry popped open the seal and pulled out the page, taking a minute or two to read it. His head jerked up and his gaze caught hers, a genuine grin spreading on his lips.

"Well, who did you get?" Hermoine asked, finding Harry's grin contagious and a smile tugging at her lips.

"I got Ginny!"

Hermoine clapped, getting ump to go and embrace the ecstatic wizard. She truly was happy for him and Ginny, but a part of her couldn't help but wonder if she could ever be as happy with the Malfoy's as Harry and Ginny would be.

-(0o0)-

 _Malfoy Manor: Evening_

Lucius was exhausted as he strode his way back to his study. His _lovely_ wife had wanted to make their last talk a memorable one, and it had taken a lot out of him. But now it was done and he wouldn't have to endure the wretched shrew any longer. He climbed the stairs slowly, his mind wandering to the letters Draco and him were to receive. They were due any minute now, if they weren't already there.

Draco was waiting for him in the same place he was when the older man left. A look of resignation colored his pale, aristocratic face. As Lucius took his seat beside his son, Draco opened his mouth to speak: "How-" and was interrupted by a Ministry owl flying in through the French window and landing on Lucius' desk, dropping what both men immediately recognized as _the_ letters, before promptly flying off.

For a moment, neither man moved. After all, these letters would determine the rest of their lives.

Eventually, they picked up their letters and began to read.

 _To whom this may concern,_

 _As you are (probably) aware, we - the Ministry of Magic - have enacted a new "marriage" law. This law will require you to marry and procreate with the following individual(s)._

 **Ms. Hermione Jean Granger**

 _If you have indeed not read the article (in the Daily Prophet) on this particular subject, we would strongly advise you to do so, as it will inform you of the expectations of each couple/triad by the ministry._

 _Your future husband(s)/wife/wives and yourself will have a weeklong "courting" period, to try to build the asks for a loving relationship._

 _We wish you all the best,_

 _Glenetch Gumfrizzel._

Both men finished reading their letters at the same time, and curious asked, "Who did you get?" In perfect unison.

"Granger," Draco said, answering first.

Lucius took a moment to compose himself. How...interesting of a development. Draco took his silence as anger and bow ed his head apologetically.

"Father, I know you have always expected it of me to marry a girl of pure-blood descent, but you know as well as I that I have no choice in the matter. Who have they selected for you?"

Lucius sighed heavily, feeling a strange weight resting on his shoulders. "Draco, this is not the reasoning behind my disapproval of your match. I disapprove of this match because of the fact that in approximately two weeks time we are both to be wed to Miss Granger."

Draco swallowed hard, refusing to meet the older man's gaze. He had grown to have a sort of fondness he would never admit for the bushy haired Gryffindor, and truth be told he had felt a sort of relief when he read her name. However, adding his own father to the mixture was not something Draco particularly liked. His jaw clenched when his father slid the pale page over towards him as proof. _I wonder how this will play out..._

* * *

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	3. Courting: Day One

**-:Chapter Three:-**

 **Co-Written and Beta-d by TheFlameRose**

* * *

 **The Ministry- Early Afternoon**

Ronald Bilious Weasley was _not_ a happy wizard.

Sitting dismally in an uncomfortable armchair, he took a swig of the Firewhiskey he had been smart enough to bring along. His head fell back asleep on me against the hard backing of the chair, the dull thud having no effect on him. He was to marry- to make children with-

He took another swig.

-Dolores Jane Umbridge. Former Headmistress of Hogwarts. Retired DADA professor. Quite the miserable old toad. She should still be rotting in Azkaban.

Ron swirled the contents of the bottle around, frowning at the little amount left. He was sure there was half a bottle left just a few minutes ago. Or was it half an hour? He'd been waiting a long time.

A female Unspeakable stood guard at the entrance of the little chamber he was in, staring straight ahead as if he wasn't even there. She hadn't so much as blinked since he sat down. The people who had led him to this courting-room-thing had told him that they were arranging everything for the session, much to Ron's relief. He sure as Hell didn't know what to do with the foul old crow.

As he stared up at the pale ceiling, he couldn't help but find at least one positive thing about the situation. At least she wouldn't be living with him. The people in charge had informed him that all incarcerated Witches and Wizards that had been deemed worthy of baby-making would be sent to stay in a temporary building until the time of their impending nuptials.

They would be having tea and "polite" conversation to "break the ice".

He downed the rest of the Firewhiskey, shaking the bottle to get the last drops out.

He should have brought more Firewhiskey.

He would have brought more Firewhiskey if he had been forewarned of the duration of the Ministry-imposed torture.

One. Bloody. Hour.

He didn't know if he was going to survive.

The click of the door opening caused a grimace to form on his face. The torture was about to begin.

 _Bloody brilliant._

"No, really, I'm quite alright. You don't have to lead me over, I can do it by myself," he heard her say, that horrid voice ingrained forever in his mind. He stifled a groan and sat up, straightening his shirt slightly. Perhaps it was the memory of her punishments that made him do it. He didn't particularly know.

But as soon as he made eye-contact with the beady-eyed shrew he knew his life was over.

"Oh, why hello, Ronald!" She said in an amiable tone. Even through his slightly drunken vision he could see the disgust in her eyes. He hoped she knew it was returned.

As the pregnant silence dragged on between them, Umbridge cleared her throat and made to sit on the love-seat adjacent to him. He watched her in dread, his mind stumbling to think of a way to get out of the situation. Alas, it came up blank.

"So, Ronald, we are quite the match, wouldn't you say," she began with a forced chuckle, looking at him expectantly. His eyebrows rose in a silent form of Really? He'd anticipated the great Dolores Umbridge to be better at small talk. Snorting, he turned to look back up at the ceiling, opting to remain silent.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed at the behavior, a semblance of her old self sparking. She hadn't felt as alive as she did right then since her days as Headmistress. Not that she would ever admit that to herself.

Her lips pursed and she rose to her feet, daintily walking around the coffee table that separated them before coming to a stand right in front of the melancholy ginger. His eyes lazily rolled over to look at her, widening when she gripped him by the shirt collar and brought him closer.

"Now, Mr. Weasley. You have no idea just how much I wish I had my wand so I could smite you where you sit. If I were to be given the opportunity, I would gladly put you through one of my detentions that your beloved friend Mr. Potter had to endure. All that must be done here is for you and I to have a pleasant conversation and then we can both go back to our quarters. It would be in your best interest, Mr. Weasley, not to ignore me again."

And with that, she released her hold on his shirt and walked back to her seat, noticeably slower than before. She sat down with a tired exhale and sat up as primly and proper as always.

"So how has the weather been for you? I'm afraid it has been terribly cold and chilling where I have been."

Ron took a deep breath, adjusting his shirt to try and fix the bunch she had made while also sitting up straight.

"It's, uh, it's been quite lovely, I suppose," he replied, feeling relief flood through him at the approving look she gave him.

"That's wonderful to hear."

She smiled. His skin crawled.

He should have brought more Firewhiskey.

-(0o0)-

The Ministry - Afternoon

When he had arrived at the chamber in which they would be taking the portkey from, she had already been there, standing near the corner of the room with her arms crossed. He scoffed internally. Of course she was already there. She was Hermione Granger for Merlin's sake.

The duo did not even get the slimmest chance to greet each other before a middle-aged man with a receding hairline stepped forward and cleared his throat. He introduced himself as their chaperone for the afternoon, much to Draco's displeasure. He found his gaze drawn to Granger and he shared a look with her. Obviously, she was also not very enthused by his proclamation.

However, before they could vocalize their feelings, the Unspeakable revealed a decrepit old box from his robes, the dull metal was unable to shine whether it wanted to or not. Draco had absolutely no idea as to what it was. It must be some sort of Muggle contraption or something like that, he decided, still eyeing it warily. Regardless of any prejudice he held towards such things, he grabbed a hold of a corner, watching with frown as Granger and the man took a grip as well. He felt the somewhat familiar pull that was associated with portkeys, but he, as a rule, didn't too much like to use them often. He disliked the disorientation that would inevitably come.

After letting go of the little Muggle metal box – and, after landing rather unceremoniously on his arse – he found himself in... his Mother's favorite sun room.

At that thought he frantically looked around, searching for her, if she was here...

Narcissia had made her feeling on Draco's – and Lucius' - impending marriage abundantly clear the previous evening.

They had been strolling in one of Lucius' many rose gardens, as was their custom weekly routine. The walk and the day itself had all been perfectly pleasant, until she turned on him.

No, she hadn't physically "turned" on him, but in every other sense of the word it was true.

"Draco."

He had looked over at her, waiting expectantly for her to continue. He knew better than to say anything when she had that emotionless mask on her face.

"I trust that you don't actually intend to marry that Mudblood despite anything the Ministry has said," she continued, the silence following causing her to pause mid-stride. She turned to him then, physically of course, and scrutinized him. Her eyes narrowed just the slightest as she asked, "Do you?"

He already knew she wasn't actually asking him a question. Rather, she was making a statement. The piercing look in her eyes bore into him, expecting him to say 'No, I would never marry into such an unclean bloodline.' She expected him to agree with her view of things, as he had always done. But he wouldn't, no, he couldn't. Not for this. He couldn't escape this situation. In fact, it was prohibited by law to disagree. She had to understand that.

"Mother, she is to be my wife. And as the wife of any Malfoy, it will be required for all, including you, to show her the respect that she is due," he declared, feeling a slight burn nipping at his ears by standing up to her. She stared at him for a moment before letting out a short laugh.

"Perhaps she will be your wife. But, I want you to think of this. She was also be a wife to your father. Serving him in the exact ways in which she will have to serve you. Disgusting," she sneered, practically spitting her words at him.

Before his mind could even form a retort to her rant she stormed away, graceful even in anger, he sadly noted.

He was pulled out of his reverie by Hermione's concerned voice calling gently to him, making him blink away his stupor.

"Are you alright?" She whispered, eyeing him with a slight bit of worry.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger, I'm afraid we are on a strict schedule here," the balding man said, his bushy eyebrows turned down in irritation.

Is he going to be like this the entire two weeks?/em Draco asked himself. Unbeknownst to him, Hermione was asking herself the same question.

Nonetheless, they followed the Unspeakable out of the double French doors leading out of the sun room and to the very same gardens that Narcissa had recently accosted him. He found it fittingly ironic.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Granger looked around, unable to hide the awe she felt at looking at it all. Draco found a smirk pulling at his lip at the sight, a rush of pride coursing through him. At least he knew he had her approval on one aspect of Manor.

However, while he could see how she felt on the outside, he couldn't read her thoughts. So, he didn't know how unnerved Hermione actually felt looking around the primly cut bushes and flourishing flowers organized perfectly around the grounds. It was too beautiful, too picturesque, to be natural. Then again, it was a wealthy wizarding family's garden. She supposed it didn't have to look natural.

Their chaperone cleared his throat, staying her from any further analysis and drawing Draco's attention back to him.

Draco led Hermione over to the preset picnic made by the Malfoy house elves. He tried to help her down, as he would have for any of the pure-blood women his Mother had tried to set him up with, she determinedly rebuffed his efforts.

When they were both finally sitting down, there was several minutes of awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say.

Draco knew that he really should be the one to begin, but fozeund he had no idea what to say to one such as the women who was currently sitting across from him. But he had to say something…

Hermione was suffering much the same predicament as her betrothed. But she was a Gryffindor. She had to be brave. She had to have courage. She had to say something…

But he beat her to it. He knzew he had to apologize, for… everything.

"Hermione, I-I just wanted to apologize for everything, for the way I treated you at school and…the rest," he stuttered. He had never had to apologize to anyone before. But he knew if they had any hope of ever having a relationship, it was important that he do this.

He had a feeling he would be doing a lot more of this, in the future. In any case it was good practice.

Hermione sighed. She supposed she did want a relationship with him, or at least the best one she could provided the current situation.

"We are to be married...And as such, I think it would be in everyone's best interests to forgive and forget. We need to move forward and we can't do that if we keep holding on to our old grudges," she told him, smiling just slightly up at him, but still feeling a slight reluctance. As he smiled back at her, he couldn't help thinking that she had a sort of unique charm to her. She was different, not like all the pureblood girls his Mother had always tried to set him up with.  
Throughout, their - rather short, they both thought - picnic, they simply talked. They were both astonished at how easily the conversation seemed to flow.

By the time their chaperone informed them that their time was up for the day, they were each quite engaged to the idea of spending the rest of their natural lives together.


End file.
